


She's Your Cocaine

by Missy



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Genderplay, Plot What Plot, Recreational Drug Use, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-03
Updated: 2011-07-03
Packaged: 2017-10-21 00:03:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/218586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How did Sam and Fiona entertain themselves in Venezuela?  This way.  Maybe...</p>
            </blockquote>





	She's Your Cocaine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [voodoochild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoochild/gifts).



> Written for voodoochild, on the occasion of her return to the states; also inspired by her rec post on genderplay. Contains obvious spoilers for 05.01: Company Man

The tequila was halfway gone when Fiona poked Sam’s shoulder. “Hey,” he complained, dodging her blow, “don’t make me spill it!”

Fiona rolled her eyes. “If you’d give it to me I wouldn’t have to pull it.” She grabbed the bottle around its neck and pulled – Sam released it quickly to avoid a break. Fi tilted her head back and took several long, satisfying gulps, her hair cascading down her back and one hand on her hip. Maybe it was the booze, but Sam found the sight of her appealing after twenty four hours of nonstop travel.

He eyed her grip. “Geez. No wonder Mike’s got bruises all over his back,” Sam snorted, sliding comfortably down the wall. He was buzzed, not drunk – he needed to stay alert, on the off chance that Mike might call.

Fi lifted her mouth away from the bottle and let out a satisfied groan, wiping it against the back of her hand. “I’m a strong girl,” she replied. She held out the vessel and stomped her way across the room. “Why? Are you afraid of me Sam?”

Bravado immediately stepped in to rescue Sam, and he scoffed. “Whatever.” He put the tequila aside and stretched out his legs. She sat on the bed, crossing her arms and pouting. Sam knew she was winding up yet another rant about how awful Mike was for dumping them there – in lieu of hearing it, he reached into the front pocket of his jeans. “There’s two ways to pass the time away up here. We could get smashed and let Mikey deal with the mess we make, or…” he unfurled his fingers, revealing a slim joint cradled upon his palm.

She gaped at him. “When did you get that?” He had shocked her! His delight was visible in his grin.

“During our stopover in Maui,” he smirked. “I bumped into an old college buddy in the john.” He reached behind him for a book of complimentary matches, and then struck one. “He runs a coffee plantation out in Oahu. With a little bit of a side market.”

She stared at him as he lit the joint. “I can’t believe a boy scout like you smokes pot!”

He tucked the joint between his lips, inhaled, and then exhaled, pulling the joint from his mouth and holding out the glowing stick of reefer for Fi. “I grew up in the seventies,” he pointed out. “And this is the first one I’ve had since I was sixteen.”

She stared at the offered joint for a moment, and then hesitatingly took it from his grip. “Is it puff-puff pass?” she asked, mock-naive, and took a deep drag.

Facing each other, they took up a rhythm, passing it back and forth. A pleasant, mellow feeling overtook Sam’s limbs, but the joint’s effect on Fiona was remarkable.

She may have been able to hold her liquor like a sailor, but when it came to pot she had as much fortitude as a giggling sorority girl. It made her exceedingly bouncy, bright and mischievous.

Sam chuckled as she got up to haul one of her suitcases onto the bed. Fiona unzipped it and started rummaging. “Why the hell did you bring half your closet with you?”

“Michael promised me a vacation,” she said pertly, “I dressed to suit it.” Her eyes sparkled. “Sam, do you have a jacket?”

He frowned. “Probably in my duffle.” Movement required coordination, but he managed to reach the counter and pull it down. On top of the pile of clothing he’d stuffed inside lay his good jacket, which he’d brought in case Michael needed him to play Charles Finley, wealthy executive. He tossed it to Fi, who had pulled out a pair of light cotton pants, and one of her blouses. “And a tie?”

“What are you up to?” he asked, rummaging through his things. He found a paisley-patterned one, blue and grey – her nose wrinkled at the sight of it.

“Your taste is appalling,” she replied, bounding off to the bathroom. Sam rolled his eyes and straightened up his bag, tossing it off the bed. He zipped her suitcase and it joined his duffle on the floor.

“Don’t knock my taste,” he said. “I’m not the one who thinks five hundred dollar floral sarongs are sexy.”

“Diane Von Furstenberg would disagree,” said Fi. He listened to her bang around for a few minutes before asking who the woman was. “One of the world’s top designers. I knew you wouldn’t recognize the name of someone who doesn’t coat her clothing in ugly palm trees.”

“I like palm trees!” Sam shouted. He paused in mid-thought as the door swung open. Fi had dressed to kill; she sported tailored suit pants, her white blouse, and over it his jacket, which fit loosely but attractively around her slender body. She’d slicked her hair back into a strict bun, and her lips were brick red. Sam was surprised by the sudden pull of erotic lust that drew him to her; he swallowed to get the words out. “Where’re you going all done up like that?”

She smirked, grabbing her fedora off the table. “Out clubbing.” Her swaggering walk was interrupted by an abrupt stumble.

He shook his head. “It’s not safe out there.” She rolled her eyes, and Sam blocked her progress across the room. “C’mon, Fi! We’re on foreign soil – you have to admit going out like that’s a little…”

“Provocative?” He knew well that dangerous gleam sparkling in her eye – it was all the warning Sam got before she stepped forward and pressed a palm to his groin.

He leapt away from the fire of her touch. “Woah…” Was she higher than he’d assumed? “Do you know what you’re doing to me?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Fi sprinted to the vanity and opened her purse, pouring out her makeup. “You need to loosen up,” she declared, sitting on the stool and palming open a lipgloss pot. “Come here.”

He eyed her. “What’re you going to do?”

She smirked. “Have fun.”

“Your idea of fun,” Sam replied, carefully coming closer and very gingerly sitting down, “usually involves percussion grenades.”

She snickered. “I can’t blow up the room with makeup.” She shrugged one shoulder out of the jacket and smirked. “No concealed weapons.”

This new, playful Fiona was arousing and frightening by equal measure, but he sat down, pressed his knees together, and turned toward her. “What do you want?”

“Close your eyes.”

Instead, he forced them wide open. “No!”

Fi pouted. “Sam. I thought you trusted me…”

“I do,” he insisted. “You’re just…” he eyed the pot of gloss again. “What, Fi?”

She dipped her index finger into the pot. “I told you. Having fun.” She leaned closer to him, and he caught a whiff of her vanilla musk; sweat pooled at the back of his neck and he gulped. “Pucker up,” she requested.

He complied – because some part of him truly had grown to trust her, and because he was curious. Her wicked little finger swabbed across his bottom lip, then the top. “Fith!” he muttered, his lips still pursed together.

She giggled childishly. He watched her rustle through the rest of her makeup, applying a little bit of blusher. Sam stayed quiet because her touch – surprisingly gentle when it moved to his eyes – was comforting. Then she got up, grabbed one of those damn sarongs and wrapped it around his body. He sat still, feeling mellow, tolerant of her antics because he was as amused by them as she is.

“Open your eyes

Sam took a look at himself, reflected back in the mirror, and burst into laughter. The haphazardly-applied makeup made him look like Boy George on a bender, and, “I look like a two-bit wharf whore.”

“Sam!” Fiona giggled. She wraps an arm around him. “You look like a proper tea room lady. Maybe you should bite my crumpet.”

Sam’s brow wrinkled in surprise. “Is…that a sex thing?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, this is.” She pulled him against her, craning her neck, pressing a series of giddy, breathless kisses against his lips. Sam chuckled against her mouth, parting his lips, Letting her tongue sweep around the inside of his mouth, his suction on hers grew deeper and harder, and he had to pry his own from between her teeth.

“Hey, woah…whatt’re you doing, Fi?”

“I told you. Having fun.” Her lips pecked at his, sweet, tiny, nibbling kisses. “You want to, Sam. I know you do.”

“But what about Mike?” he panted – this was the last thread of sanity as she started to nibble his ears, his jawline.

“Michael’s the love of my life. But you’re my best friend.” For Fiona it was that simple.

He frowned up at her. “You’re loving the one you’re with?”

She shut him up, an index finger pressed to his lips. “Don’t be a tease,” she told him, and her hands went to the buttons of his shirt.

He had the suit jacket off of her before she bumbled the shirt open. He shrugged it off and got to work on the tie. Unknotting it while it was on someone else’s body proved a difficult experience – Fiona reached down to help him, straddling his knees, looming like a mountain peak.

Sam’s fingers went nimbly to her bra clasp and tugged it open, teasingly baring bits of flesh. It was a lacy bra, spanning her ribs, adorned with bows, unclasping at the back – she led his hand while unzipping his fly, then worked the toggles of his belt open – the bench creaked, and she pulled back to tear the blouse down her arms. Sam stared up at her, panting, sucking on the top of one of her breasts, testing it with his teeth.

Her hands shoved his head back, sending him sprawling across the padded surface. Fiona slipped off his lap to kneel between his legs, giving him one of her ‘come on now’ looks. “No marks, Samuel,” she instructed. Fi had never used his full name and the sound of it on her lips made him sit still and look up, not knowing what to expect.

She went to the neck of his wifebeater, her fingers slipping lightly over his collarbone, teasing the straps down, as if it were a bra. He reached for the hem but she stopped him, holding his hands palm-down beside his head. Fi lowered her face to his chest and nuzzled it through the material. She kissed and nibbled her way to his nipples, each of which rose in turn; she dodged right when he thought she’d go left, then she licked a nipple through the cotton material. Her mouth surrounded it, swirling about once, before sucking gently. Sam’s thighs turned to iron against the vanity bench, a stricken moan coming from his depths; reaching up for her breasts, he cupped one and palmed it with eager conviction. Fiona groaned, lowering her chest into his hand, making a move for his opposite nipple.

Sam couldn’t bear it for long; he needed full contact, not teasing. When he pulled the wifebeater up with his free hand, Fiona moved to help him remove it, and he used her distraction as an excuse to part her bra and touch the silken, creamy flesh hidden beneath. She let out a low cry and he arched his back to get her tit back into his mouth; he rubbed himself against her skin in praise, smearing her with rouge and eyeshadow.

Fi slipped sideways, back onto Sam’s lap; slowly, she started rocking against him, rubbing her sex into his growing hard-on while he sucked her breasts. He bit her nipple and she arched her back, digging her nails into his shoulders; after a few minutes of play she grabbed his head and moved him to her opposing breast. “Switch,” she ordered, swapping him back again, her thumb pressed into one of his nipples.

Sam outright tortured her with his mouth; when her breath sobbed at a teasing lick, he used his teeth; when she writhed against his lap he bucked upward into her. She was trapped against him until she shoved him back again by the shoulders and climbed off his prone body – going for the fastening of her pants.

He used the time to strip jeans and boxers down and off together, lying back and awaiting her return. She peered at him over her shoulder and smirked.

“Mmm…so big.”

He smirked at the flattery. Then she tweaked his nose.

“What a card…” His voice choked when she knelt beside him, kissing his nipples again and then slowly, achingly slowly, kissing her way toward his cock.

It leapt up in gladness as she caressed it. “Hmmm, this is pretty big too. Has anyone ever told you how pretty you are, Sam?”

He glared at her, running a hand down her torso, squeezing her breast again and stroking her stomach. “You’re pushin’ it, sister.”

“I’m just telling you the truth,” she replied. “You have a pretty cock – be proud of it.” His dick throbbed in her hand. “He agrees,” she teased, giving him a long, firm stroke.

He lay back in surrender – even though he was getting dangerously close to coming, he let her trace veins, lap him like a lollipop, and kiss his balls. She tried to deep throat him but repeatedly choked, making her eyes water and her mascara run a river down her cheeks. Sam realized he must be hung thicker than what she was used to. He rubbed her shoulders and played with her hair.

“Hey, easy honey. Don’t hurt yourself on it.”

She glared at him through her streaked makeup. “Do I tell you how to eat a girl out?”

He smirked. “No. But keep lickin’ me and I’ll show you how I do it.”

She picked up his hint and licked him lavishly – it wasn’t quite as good as being buried in her throat but it made him eager to please her. Fiona worked him with her slippery right hand, making his toes curl. Sam grabbed her free arm and tried to pull her back on the bench, but Fi pulled away from Sam’s touch. She licked him until he was stone-hard and quivering, then climbed onto the bench, straddled his head and spread her legs.

There was a universal invitation to eat at the y if Sam ever saw one. He teased her with the tip of his tongue, drawing invisible lines and hearts on the exterior of her shaven labia before pulling it open and darting his tongue into and out of the aperture between her legs. Fi moaned, freezing, and rode his tongue, using the force of her movements to bring her hand up and down around his cock.

Fi couldn’t seem to stand the teasing anymore, and arched away from his touch. She spread her labia open, and pointed at her clit. “Suck,” she demanded, and tried to take him back down her throat. If she wanted him to be direct he could definitely be direct – his tongue circled her clit before repeatedly flicking over it.

“Ugh, God,” she moaned, her hips resuming the thrusting motion they’d taken on when he’d tongued her slit. That was hard on his chin, but Sam kept up the rhythm, increasing speed as she leaned against his belly and ground herself down against him, panting. “Oh God yes, eat me, that’s a good boy, eat my cunt...”

The filthy language amused him; he nipped her with his teeth and immediately sucked her clit into his mouth. She keened and arched her back, and he awkwardly, blindly groped upward until he had a breast in his hand.

“Sam…oh God, Sam….I’m…”

His tongue flicked frantically against her clit, using the speed and stroke that drove every woman he’d ever laid mad. Fiona’s thighs stiffened against his hand, and he quickly penetrated her with his middle and index finger. She shrieked her relief, rubbing against his hot, open mouth, and Sam flicked his tongue until she collapsed around his fingers and onto his stomach, her sheathe throbbing around fingers. His abandoned cock beat in sympathy, knowing where it wanted to go.

They lay panting together, his cock twitching, exposed in the air, and covered with lipstick trails. She smirked and tugged at it. “Poor baby,” she cooed, contorting herself, rolling until she was straddling his ap. He reaches for his cock to brace it, but Fi took it in palm and slowly lowered herself onto him. “OhSam,” she moaned, her hand going to his chest.

“Shit,” Sam moaned, feeling her close over him, hot and wet and sweet. The sensation made him sit up and grab her by the waist. “Put your legs around me,” he demanded, and she obeyed instinctively. Mashing her up against him, he kissed her forcefully and slung her up into the air, standing and carrying her to the bed, step by aching step.

Fi clung to his back, pocking it with nail marks, as he bore her like a trophy across the room, deliberately holding her thighs in a death grip, hoping there would be bruises for Michael to see in the morning. She let out a whine at the hot flash of friction as Sam deliberately walked her to the wall. Pinning her shoulders to it, he stared straight into her eyes and gave her two long, slow, deep pumps; she screamed and clung to his neck.

“You like my cock, baby?”

She laughed and squeezed him tight. Sam tried to shut her up with two firm, slow thrusts, but her nails scratched their way down to his ass.

He took two steps to the bed and fell onto it with her in his arms.

Carefully ensconced, they started rocking – less of a violent mating dance than a soothing meeting of the sexes. An extension of their highs, a slow, floating, romantic moment.

“Fuck me harder,” she finally demanded, and he took her bottom lip between his teeth and increased the tempo. His chin bumped into her lip and he cursed; she grabbed his ass harder, knotting their legs together, their makeup mixing into muddy tracks on her face. Sam held back, driving into her until she had to shove a hand between them and rub her clit to orgasm. When she reached an explosion that left her shrieking, Sam started fucking her for all he was worth, grabbing Fi by the thighs, yanking them toward her shoulders, and pounding into her.

He’d rendered Fi too weak to resist; she moaned and held his head, licking his earlobe, feeling him grow tight-muscled and hot-skinned in her grasp. His orgasm swept him away unexpectedly and Sam let out a low cry of relief as his balls drew up and his cock pulsed, emptying himself into her sweetness, his face turned away from hers as he collapsed against her.

Together, they gasped, a mess of makeup and tangled limbs, for what seemed to be an eternity; the sun had definitely moved by the time Sam rolled away.

Fi wove unsteadily to her feet. “Do you want to split a shower?”

“They said not to touch the water.”

She groaned and headed toward the toilet. And Sam watched her walk away with his come dripping down her thighs.

THE END


End file.
